Redeem Us from Our Solemn Hour
by Final Frontier Voyager
Summary: Spin-off from 8x17 Goodbye Stranger. Torn between obedience and loyalty, Castiel has to choose a side, but this decision comes with a price he may not be ready to pay. angel!whump
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**

**This idea has been bothering me since the scene in 8x17 Goodbye Stranger when Castiel is ordered to kill Dean, but he manages to stop himself in the last minute. My imagination came up with an idea of what he could have done instead.**

**Summary: Torn between obedience and loyalty, Castiel has to choose a side, but disobedience comes with a price he may not be ready to pay.**

**Story type: strictly canon, no slash etc. Hurt/Comfort, which means a reasonable amount of angel whump. Bear with me.**

**Characters: Castiel, Dean, Naomi**

**Warnings: May contain coarse language, but nothing worse than Dean's usual manners.**

**Disclaimer: Guess what, I don't own Supernatural.**

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_Sanctus Espiritus, redeem us from our solemn hour_

_Sanctus Espiritus, insanity is all around us_

_Sanctus Espiritus, is this what we deserve, can we break free_

_From chains of never ending agony?_

– Part 1 –

"Bring me the tablet!"

Naomi's words keep echoing in his mind; everlasting, cruel words. They are orbiting tenaciously around the spot where Castiel is standing, blade frozen in his hand, in a whirlwind of time. He is both here and there; Naomi's office and Lucifer's crypt at the same time and feels reality shattering around him.

His reality.

In front of him is a horrible yet familiar image; a beaten, bloodied Dean Winchester shaking on the ground, one arm lifted in front of his face trying to protect himself, the other one hanging limply and uselessly beside him. It looks broken, and Castiel vaguely remembers breaking it with one graceful twist of his hand, though the memory is hazy and distant, as if it was not his own. Different words creep into his resisting mind, stifling Naomi's temporarily; words coming from another person, words Castiel unsurely feels he can hold onto.

"_We're family. We need you. I need you._"

Words of a pleading man, but the pleas are not meant to beg for sparing a life. There is no selfish fear in them, there is a different kind of fear; a fear for losing someone. Fear for losing him.

Castiel staggers mentally. He has done it a thousand times back there; a thousand punches, a thousand sweeps of arm, a thousand dead Deans. A thousand scars on his soul that he has managed to cover when his boss was watching. And yet he stands here and hesitates, because something holds his will back upon hearing the word _family_. Killing someone who is your family is just simply, plainly _wrong_. This is the law of God, and that is more powerful than anything.

An eternity passes.

"You have to choose, Castiel – us or them!"

The compelling voice hammers ruthlessly against his mind, and he is violently pulled back to himself. Naomi orders, Naomi commands, Naomi _makes _him do it. The blade holding arm stirs; his body wants to obey before his mind does, and yet he still can't bring himself to act. Dean's eye, the one that is not swollen thanks to his beating, is locking with his, and it's full of untold stories. Castiel blinks; the fingers around the hilt of the sword loosen a bit.

_You have to choose –_

The fingers tighten again, and Castiel feels like being torn apart. He can't fight it. She is way stronger than him, and she will have what she wants eventually, no matter how hard he tries. And he _is_ trying now. He has seen a thousand dead Deans; now he can't seem to bear the sight of one more.

The hand trembles and starts moving downwards. Castiel stares at it aversely, as if it was not a part of his body, and he is unsure of whether it is actually him that makes the blade descend. He knows he has to stop it before it kills his friend against his will.

And has to obey at the same time.

_Us or them!_

The pressure reaches an unbearable level, and it is only a heartbeat later when Castiel realizes that he has lost. He is unable to make this choice. He can't make it, because either way he chooses, he will lose. But the urge to obey and the urge not to are now equally strong in him, and he can't stop them anymore. He needs to stab. He also needs to save.

It all happens in the blink of an eye, but to him it feels like forever. The blade changes direction mid-air, and on the edge of breakdown, using up the last of his composure, Castiel drives the sword into himself.

* * *

"_Cas!"_

An eerie, screeching sound is heard, light bursts out and sparkles erupt all around in the crypt. Something cracks behind his eyes, followed by a sudden, blinding pain in his skull. Castiel stumbles backwards and collapses, eyes squeezing shut and back falling heavily against the stone wall. Somewhere in the depths of his tormented mind he swears he can hear Naomi scream for a brief moment before silence descends on him.

"Cas!"

A horrified cry flies up somewhere near him, but he is not sure it is not only his ears ringing. His hand that has been still holding the sword – something he has been unaware of until now – lets go and sinks sluggishly into his lap. He is panting, and he is dying, but he almost cracks a triumphant smile because he can finally feel the intoxicating sensation of liberation. Whatever he did, it has torn Naomi away from him, pushed her aside, made her will disappear from his mind. Castiel feels something strange and it is physical this time; a single tear, probably of joy, escapes his right eye and gutters down along his nose.

"Cas, what the hell?"

The person who has cried earlier finally reaches him, grabs him, forces him to look at them. It takes seconds for Castiel to recognize Dean; not only because of his beaten up face and swollen eye, but because time has seemingly slowed down for him and his dazed senses refuse to cooperate. Dean is rambling about something but the angel can barely follow over the stunned feeling of cleanliness and freedom.

And pain.

"You in there? What's wrong with you?"

The voice finally manages to break through the fog clouding his mind; Dean is already fumbling with the hilt of the sword still embedded in the angel's left shoulder. Castiel is unable to answer him, just looks on with mild interest, panting slightly, though he feels a hint of surprise as he is fairly convinced he has been aiming for the heart. It seems like Dean is preparing to pull the blade out; he has taken off his jacket and tucked it around the weapon, although he is in obvious agony due to his broken arm. Castiel's heart sinks with regret.

"Stay still Cas, I'm going to pull it out on three, okay? One… two… three…"

"I'm sorry Dean." Castiel manages to rasp out, ignoring the counting, his voice barely above a whisper. He fixes his gaze onto Dean's face and their eyes lock. Dean's expression is rigid, unyielding, frozen in a mixture of pain and desperation. He does not answer, just tries to hold jacket and angel in place with his injured arm and starts pulling the sword out.

Castiel's body tenses involuntarily, his vision swims and his heels dig in the ground, but his right hand finds its way to the hunter's arm, groping up to his shoulder and neck, until it reaches the side of his face.

And then while the blade is still being extracted, Castiel gathers power from the pain and lets his grace flow free like a warm river through his arm and into Dean kneeling above him, healing all his injuries. As the cuts and bruises and bloody smudges disappear and the swelling above the eye subsides, revealing the old features of the familiar face, Castiel holds Dean's gaze all the while and refuses to let go. Only when the tip of the sword has come out of his shoulder and the last wound has vanished from the hunter's face does he let his arm fall down tiredly and his eyes close.

Sharp pain in his shoulder yanks him back to the cold reality of the crypt, but for the first time in the past minutes, Castiel can feel his mind clear. He blinks and pants and feels more teardrops flow from his eye, and looking up he finds the newly healed Dean, pushing fabric against the stab wound that is throbbing and bleeding and shining –

"I'm so sorry Dean."

"What the hell just happened?" The hunter bursts out. "What's wrong with your eye?"

Castiel doesn't understand. He summons up some more strength to reach up to his face where he feels the wetness of tears still pouring from his right eye. When his hand comes away, there is blood on his fingers and he winces at the sudden memory of a long, sharp metal object closing in on his face.

"It's Naomi," he says simply.

"Who is she?"

"An angel of higher ranks. She was the one who rescued me from Purgatory. She demanded… obedience and I couldn't deny… I didn't even remember her when I was down here."

Castiel is struggling with the words. He barely understands himself what has been happening to him in the past months, and he can't even come close to accurately describing the feeling. It is like waking up from a deep, long coma, at least he guesses it must be like that.

Dean also looks confused and a little lost, but lets the angel gather his thoughts, urging the process with pushing down on the wound even harder. Castiel inhales sharply.

"So this Naomi has been controlling you since she got you out of Purgatory?"

"Yeah."

"What broke the connection?"

"I don't know," Castiel breathes and shakes his head weakly. "But she'll be back… she'll be back for me."

He grabs the side of Dean's arm, because he has to say something important; more important than him almost dying, more important than almost killing his friend.

"Whoa, easy there, Cas," Dean is trying to calm him down, sensing the agitation that has suddenly arisen in the angel. "Don't move, you're bleeding heavily and I have a feeling you won't fix it as smoothly as you fixed me–"

"You have to get out of here." Castiel's voice is low but determination glints deep in his eyes. "She can't find you here. She won't find you if you leave now, she can only get to me. Take the tablet to Kevin, have him decipher it. Don't let anyone else touch it!"

The long talk exhausts him; he lets himself fall back against the uncomfortable hardness of the wall, panting heavily. Dean should be leaving, he should be grabbing his brother and running, but just like he feared, that stubborn righteous man is still kneeling there, having not moved an inch. Castiel can already hear his stupid words that deep down he always knew he was going to hear.

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Dean," he pleads and hopes the hunter will miraculously understand that Naomi can be here any moment; that there is no time to waste.

"I'm not arguing about that. You just tore yourself away from some crazy bastard controlling you by nearly killing yourself. There is no freaking way I'm leaving you here."

Castiel shakes his head and tries to push him away and make him leave already. "You don't understand. She can't have the tablet. It's more important than me."

"Bullshit," Dean interrupts him. "We're getting up and go back for Sam."

He lifts his hands briefly from where he has been pressing down on the angel's shoulder, his efforts of trying to stop the bleeding proving to have had little effect. Bluish white light is still beaming through the hole in the tan trench coat and blood continues to seep freely the moment his hands are taken away. And a split of a second is all Castiel needs.

He looks up, meeting Dean's eyes once more and mutters "I'm sorry Dean," before summoning up what it feels like the very last of his strength, unfolding his wings and hurling himself away in a wild rush of feathers.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, that's all I thought of in the first place. But I'm starting to think I really can't leave it like that. What do you think? Should I continue? Please leave a review!**

**Song quote at the beginning is from Our Solemn Hour by Within Temptation. Go listen to it, and have a nice day,**

**FFV**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'm SO sorry for the delay! It wasn't a question that I was going to continue this piece of writing, even after all the wonderful reviews you posted! But writing my master thesis really ate up all my time:S Anyway, if you're still interested, here's the next part! (Sorry for the possible mistakes, I'm not a native English-speaker, but I try my best.)**

**Thank you for all the heartwarming reviews, they made me very happy and gave me a LOT of motivation! (just so you know:)**

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- Part 2 -

The faint sound of Dean Winchester calling his name echoes in his whirling mind over and over again. He has brought this sound with him when he launched himself out and away from Lucifer's crypt, and he's holding on to it with all of his consciousness, because deep down he cradles a need to keep hearing it for as long as possible. Dean's voice is the island in an endless black sea, the anchor in the eye of the storm, the only solid point in the whole spinning universe. It is firm and strong and kind against Naomi's furious and demanding one that is still scratching somewhere in the back of his skull. He has not managed to cast her out entirely; now he can feel her reaching towards him, coming after him, refusing to lose his track.

She is never farther than one step behind.

His flight is aimless. He has no particular idea of where he could go, only knows one thing: he has to keep moving. Luring Naomi away from the crypt, giving Dean and Sam some headstart to get away with the tablet is still the best he is good for. And he can feel her attention on him, which means she did not go chasing after the Winchesters. Only one thing is left to hope for: that Dean has kept his wits about him and gotten out of that damn place.

He almost chuckles when he realizes he just used the word 'damn' mentally.

Drifting through the atmosphere is starting to exhaust him, so he touches down on the top of a volcano in Japan to catch his breath. The planned break is cut short however, as momentum tilts him off balance and he stumbles forward, only being able to stop himself with a few more wingbeats, and then he is already far above the Asian mainland. The incident makes him getting aware of how weakened and uncoordinated he is, how little control he has over his body; and it is not only because of the injury. He has not been at his full powers since he got back from Purgatory – it is not like he has been completely whole before that, but he refuses to think about that now. The power withdrawal must have also been Naomi's work; the angel woman seems to have made settings on him as if he was some soulless machine, and though the connection feels half broken, he still has not regained all of the control.

The thought is dreadful enough to force him to stop again.

It is a small village this time somewhere in rural France. He overbalances the landing again, stumbling in long grass until coming to a halt on his hands and knees, panting heavily. His left arm shakes with thundering pain and gives way so that Castiel collapses hard on his side. Quickly turning on his back to drain the pressure from the injured shoulder, he stays there for a couple of minutes, lying in the grass, letting his senses fill with the signals of nature.

The air is thin here and fresh, a light breeze caresses his face. He can smell at least thirty different kind of flowers and plants, some wild animals, nearby water, a hint of perfume drifting from the village and only minimal gasoline. The babbling of a small river can be heard along with singing of birds and occasionally, a cowbell ring. Everything is just so peaceful here; Castiel wants to become one with the ground and lose himself in the harmony.

The alarming feeling of Naomi's approaching presence forces him to gather his strength and stand, ready to move on. He is a fugitive, worn-out and wobbly; his heart is racing as he listens with every nerve to size up the distance of the nearing danger.

_Stop running, Castiel!_

She is already here, and he throws himself upwards just in time to evade the presence that cannot wait to embrace, squeeze, and in the end, drown him. He finds himself back in North America, having been led by his subconscious to look for something he is familiar with.

His vessel is practically a dead weight. He is dragging his body with him like old clothes that cannot be thrown away. Not that he could get rid of it – not at the moment at least. He would need a lot more power and a healthy grace to use his true form, not speaking of the fact that he would be standing out like a beacon in the night for Naomi if he did that. He still is, even if not that bright; the angelic power currently leaking from the stab wound is also making him easier for his kind to find. An injured angel's vulnerability is never too hard to spot.

Castiel cannot heal a wound made by a celestial sword, but he does not even want to. Though the pain is crucial, it reminds him every second that he has succeeded. That he turned back in the last moment, managed to tear his mind temporarily away from the control, managed to save Dean Winchester. And pain becomes sweet when it reminds him of saving Dean. As long as Castiel can hold on to this feeling, it is helping him to stay free of Naomi's domination. He does not want to let that go.

He comes to a halt over the East Coast, a faint hope telling him he will be more hidden amongst the feelings of millions of people; and he decides to give it a chance. His plan of mingling in the crowd of a busy street does not work out well as he misses the landing again and finds himself standing groggily in the middle of a wide avenue. It is the middle of the day, cars honk at him from all directions and he just needs a couple of seconds to clear his chaotic mind and comprehend his surroundings.

A car shoves him a little, sending him stumbling in front of another one that stops with screeching tires. The driver yells something at him that he does not understand; in fact he could not even tell if the man was angry with him or just asked if he was okay. He trudges away onto the sidewalk, finding a blessed wall to lean on. People stop and stare at him, some of them say something about drinking, others point a finger at him. Castiel understands they think that he is drunk, but then realizes it is not only that. Bluish white light is still gleaming from the hole in his shoulder, and though he clumsily tries to adjust the trenchcoat so that it would cover the wound, the blood is still clearly visible on it. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tries to summon up some of his feeble grace, only to make the bloodstains disappear from the trenchcoat, so people would stop staring at him and go back to minding their own business.

He overestimates his own strength; the effort nearly makes his legs give way, resulting in him stumbling and blindly groping at the wall for support. He has never felt as weak and pathetic as the moment he opens his eyes and sees that the red smudges on his coat have not gotten any smaller. This won't work out… he needs rest, needs peace, needs to be alone yet hidden in the noise of souls.

Someone walks up to him, but Castiel does not wait for the person to reach him. He does not even care that there are too many eyes on him; just takes a deep breath and flutters away, the gust of wind his wings create stirs up some discarded newspaper pages from the ground and makes them dance in the air for a while, even after he is long gone.

At least his wings still remember how they work.

Castiel finds the spot he is looking for only a couple of miles away. A humble church, and inside it, the nearing end of a mass. Overcoming his draining strength he tries to plant himself lightly in the last, empty pew, and to his surprise, he almost succeeds. The thudding sound he makes turns out to be softer than he has expected, and he bumps with his left shoulder into the pew in front of him so gently that only an old couple turn back to look at him. He mutters an apology and drops his gaze, trying to act normally, trying to become nobody.

As he listens to the priest, Castiel finally feels true peace descend on him. His injured shoulder, the one he has just managed to hit against the pew, feels like it is on fire, and there is an uneasy numbness in the end of his fingers, but the angel welcomes it because it all reminds him of his victory. It all reminds him of Dean.

A new droplet of blood oozes from his eye.

Castiel wipes it quickly with the sleeve of his coat; the least he needs is to creep out the people around him. The throbbing headache returns, the one he felt shortly after refusing to kill Dean. Naomi is raging; Naomi does not want to let him go; even if she is not here, he can feel her power and compulsion, trying to force her will on him. Castiel struggles against it, thinks of Dean, thinks of turning the blade away from him. More blood seeps from his eye as he grits his teeth.

The Lord's prayer is coming up and Castiel finds himself mumbling the familiar words with the congregation. He finds relief in these words, though he is unable to recall the last time he actually prayed to God. Even if God is still around somewhere, He has most likely stopped listening to him, stopped caring about him, stopped being aware of his existence. And even if God is long gone, the words He once taught to men still give support and solace, and Castiel gladly succumbs to them.

He must have fallen in some kind of a trance, because when he comes to, he is faced with a group of people staring worriedly at him, with the priest himself at the front. He stares back at them, confused, eyebrows pulled in a frown, wondering if they are waiting for him to say something. He opens his mouth to explain himself, but realizes shortly after that he has no idea what to say.

"Are you okay, son?" The priest asks; it sounds like he has already asked it a couple times before. He puts a reassuring hand on Castiel's arm, gaze wandering sideways, and the angel suddenly understands why they are all looking at him like that. He lifts his right hand and slowly covers his shoulder wound, his bleeding, shining, _damned_ wound that is definitely not an acceptable feature to wear in a church, or in anywhere at all in this world of humans.

He looks down and mutters, "I'm fine," and cradles a faint hope that it will be enough for him to be left alone.

"You look like you need help." The priest speaks again. He's all goodwill and kindness, but Castiel almost chuckles at the thought of what this friendly old man would think if he knew that there is, in fact, a real angel of the Lord sitting in his church, who is actually in need of help, only this kind of help cannot be given by humans. Nor even angels.

Castiel is not sure if there is anyone at all who would be able to help him right now.

But he does not say a thing, just shakes his head and looks away, with a sadness embedded in his eyes so deep it even makes the priest lean back.

"What do you need then?"

The angel looks back at him and just stares. A moment of silence passes. "I just need some rest." Castiel tells him in a low, raspy voice.

"That's all right, son. You can find all the rest you need here." The priest nods and steps away obediently, nodding to the other people as well, who follow him like sheep do their shepherd. Castiel takes a deep breath and almost goes back to the calm numbness, when he becomes aware of the small object in the old man's hand.

He knows this object. He used to have one when he wanted to find Dean and Sam Winchester, calling them first to ask for their location when the spell he burned on their ribs prevented him from locating them. A cell phone, they used to call it. He has never fully understood how it worked, but he knows what it can be used for.

Which is what the priest obviously does, holding the little thing to his ear and talking to somebody. Castiel cannot make out most of his words, but at one point the man turns around to take another look at him, and that is when he makes up his mind.

He cannot stay here.

So he glances back, guilty, trying to apologize with his gaze before unfurling his wings once again and stealing himself away, shooting up into the sky, having not decided yet where to aim next. He lingers there, between earth and sky only for less than a moment, a split second, pondering about what kind of place to look for, where he can be safe –

And that is when an unrelenting weight crashes into him, making his world explode in a rush of shock and hurt.

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**A/N: Surprise, there will be a next chapter. And maybe another. Okay, several more probably:) Tell me what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay, sorry everyone, for not updating this earlier. I had this chapter written for a while, but I needed to re-check it for mistakes, which I didn't have time for because finals and stuff... anyway, you are probably here for the new part and not to hear my excuses, so here you go! Please don't hate me:)**

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- Part 3 -

In the first few seconds Castiel is not even able to comprehend what has just hit him.

It is big and heavy and rough, and it is already pulling him down with itself, making him start an unceremonious plummet through volumes of air. Castiel can feel hard things jarring into his body; he feels knees at his hipbone, elbows at his elbows, fingers at his chest gripping the front of the trenchcoat tightly and furiously.

It is another angel.

Another angel in an Asian vessel. Not Naomi, but must be one of those that stand close to her. Of course, Castiel thinks bitterly as he keeps trying to wrench himself free. He has been so busy making his own mind protect itself against Naomi that he even failed to sense the presence of another angel.

Clever woman.

Castiel kicks out and grabs his opponent's wrist, attempting to pull the hand off of him. It is like he was trying to move the moon; those fingers hold onto the fabric like ferocious fangs of a hound holding its prey. Castiel kicks again and jerks violently; he sure won't give himself easily. The two figures orbit around each other in the air in a vicious fight, a single wingbeat vibrating out occasionally, but they are without a chance to slow the breathtaking pace the angels are hurtling down with.

All of a sudden, Castiel is released. He is thrown away, actually, being sent to an even faster dive while the other angel is shooting upwards–

Before the alarm could set off in his mind, Castiel's back hits the surface of water and he sinks in it in less than a blink of an eye. The shock of cold and pain instantly envelops him as he descends further into unforgiving depths, the speed he has been falling with barely decreasing under water. Panic rises in his chest as he tries to spread his wings and fly up but finds himself unable to do so. The aura he would need to generate to fly through liquid matter is simply too much of an effort right now. Salty water burns his wound even more, and he only manages to breathe in a lungful of water as he gasps. A chilling feeling of desperation creeps up his back, along the struggling spine of the vessel, between soaked feathers that keep fighting and failing to lift him.

After what feels like hours of drowning, the frantic trashing of all six extremities finally fulfills its purpose, and Castiel's face breaks through the boundary of water and air with a desperate gasp. His life functions are reduced to panting, wheezing, coughing, and - what doesn't even occur to him - shaking. Air tastes sharp and hurts his throat. His feet tread the water unconsciously to keep his head above it, arms also trying to help, but the left one is stricken with radiating pain each time it attempts a lift.

Castiel doesn't have time to think of a way out of his situation before he is grabbed again and yanked out of the ocean with an overwhelming force. His clothes are soaking wet and sticking to his body, they even start to freeze as in the blink of an eye they are miles and miles above the earth.

They are caught in the drift of one of those cold, swift air currents that roam the atmosphere in dreadful heights. Castiel likes to avoid them even when he's at full power, but his opponent seems to ride them without fear. They travel against the current, air whizzing violently past Castiel's ear, deafening him while they pass over whole continents.

He wonders why they are not in Heaven yet.

They should have arrived in Naomi's office long ago; he should have been questioned and punished long ago. Yet here he is, tossed around in the wind like a leaf, the other angel never letting go of him in this rollercoaster of elements.

And then it comes to him.

The other angel - Castiel now recognizes him upon the impulses of his grace - wants to tire him first. He wants him to fight, to try to break free uselessly and waste his precious strength. He wants to weaken him before he takes him to Naomi, because he is afraid Castiel would still put up a fight.

They fear him even when he is wounded; the thought almost makes him smile.

The next moment they dive downwards and out of the current; after a short flight Castiel is thrown against a hard surface.

He tumbles and bounces and rolls down a rocky slope, his bones jarring and cracking before he comes to a halt, slumping down in a heap at the bottom of a mountain. The trenchcoat is still dripping, and he is still shivering from the cold and only has time to repair the broken bones and dry up his clothes before the other descends upon him.

"Elias." Castiel grits his teeth as he hisses the name.

"It's over, Castiel," the other angel answers in a calm voice, with a politeness that matches his Asian businessman looking vessel.

The smooth manner disappears quickly however, as he delivers a punch at Castiel's face, sending him sprawling on his back, groaning.

"Naomi will have a word with you. But before–"

He lifts his hand to punch again, but Castiel is ready. He has been saving his strength for the right moment, and it seems to have come. He blocks the blow with his right arm, then pulls Elias close, only to hit him back in the eye. With his opponent fallen back, he tries to stand, but Elias recovers too quickly, and before Castiel could act he is grabbed and pushed hard against a giant rock. He instantly tries to kick, but Elias swiftly dodges, his fist by-passes the arm that tries to block again, and smashes into Castiel's injured shoulder.

A thunder roars somewhere in the east; other than that, no noises can be heard. Castiel's back arches upon the impact, his head snaps backwards and he squeezes his eyes shut but never gives a sound as the spikes of agony pulse throughout his whole body. Numbness creeps into his fingertips, elbow feels heavy and stiff. Elias hits him again, and the pain renews.

Castiel does not let himself lose it. Pain wraps him and he holds onto it as if it was a rope that could stop him from falling. It reminds him of the cause, reminds him of Dean. Dean is saved, and pain dissolves into bliss. Dean-

"You're wrong, Castiel," Elias pants, seeing into his mind. "What you did was treason. You want pain? You can get it from me."

And on he keeps beating, and Castiel knows he is too weak to fight back. Thunder rumbles again and the angel becomes aware of scarce raindrops on his face in between the punches. The world around them is living; it pulses energy of life on his own, ignoring the fight of the two celestial beings. Castiel can feel these pulses all around him; in the rain, the thunder, in the fear of birds hiding from the upcoming storm, and in the droning coming from a nearby highway.

He realizes he does not want to leave this world.

Not yet.

"Stop." His whisper is barely audible through the strengthening rainfall. His freshly dried clothes start soaking again.

Elias stops with fist lifted high above his head. "What did you say?"

"Stop," Castiel croaks, a little bit louder this time. "I surrender. I won't fight anymore. I'm coming with you to Naomi deliberately."

A small curve in the corner of Elias' mouth indicates a content smile. He lets his arm down, putting his hand against Castiel's shoulder wound with just enough force to inflict pain, while the tip of his sword grazes at the other angel's neck. Castiel grits his teeth and swallows the pain without a sound.

"You are coming with me to Naomi deliberately." Elias repeats the words slowly and softly, enjoying the taste of victory on every syllable. Castiel can feel pride and relief beaming from his grace; Elias seems to be getting content with himself, something Castiel can use to take advantage.

The victorious angel slowly takes the sword away from his opponent's neck, not missing the opportunity to graze the upper layers of skin enough to draw blood. Castiel gulps and exhales; the neck wound does not even come close to the pain still radiating hot in his shoulder. It is starting to reach a level where Castiel is unable to think straight.

Probably this is the reason he is reckless enough to make an attempt for an escape.

Despite the spinning of the world around him and the blurriness of his vision, he has managed to work out a plan. He moves slowly first, pretending he is about to stand up, and Elias is already reaching to him impatiently, wanting to grab him and take him up right away, but a split second before he could touch the trenchcoat, Castiel violently unfolds his wings and shoots up, dragging the clueless angel with him right into the eye of the storm.

Elias is taken by surprise; he does not resist, does not fight, probably does not even able to comprehend what is happening for a moment. Castiel whirls up into the black clouds, missing a lightning only by inches, then spins around and takes a nosedive towards the ground before the other angel has the chance to take the upper hand.

He has to calculate his flight. He has to be accurate to release, to shove Elias in the last second as they burst out of the lowermost layers of foggy black and the ground comes up to catch them with an alarming velocity. Running across it like a welt is the swarming grey stripe of the highway, and Elias is falling right onto it and in front of a speeding truck whose driver steps on the brakes in alarm but it is way too late –

Castiel does not have time to look on as the vessel of the other angel explodes into a gruesome chaos of blood, flesh and bone - he has problems on his own. He has overestimated his abilities again; he plummets unstoppably sideways, barely able to dodge another huge truck that honks and drifts to the right. Pivoting in the air Castiel tries to slow down in vain, and a split second later he slams into the grassy ground a couple of yards away from the edge of the road, tumbling for a while and stirring up a good amount of grass and dirt before coming to a halt.

He stays there on his stomach, panting, absorbing old pain in his shoulder and new pains in his head, knee and hip as chunks of grass and dust descend back on him gracefully. His ears slowly start registering the chaotic sounds of the upheaval he has caused on the highway but he is way too exhausted yet to stand and watch, or what would be better, fly away. Elias' vessel has been ruined, there is no possible doubt about that, and it will take him a while to get another one and come after him again. Castiel lets his face rest on the cool ground, breathes in the smell of grass and soil and soaked-in gasoline, and closes his eyes and listens to hear if Naomi's around.

There's no sign of her, only silence.

Castiel becomes aware of the wetness dripping on the ground from his face, and his heart sinks because he immediately thinks of the sinister bleeding of his eye. He still has no idea what that is supposed to mean; it merely feels wrong, as if he did something wrong and it is somehow connected to Naomi –

With an effort that almost exceeds his strength, he pushes himself off the ground. Knee and shoulder buckle the moment he is on all four, but he forcefully tenses uncooperative muscles and manages to catch himself in time. Standing, however, seems a little too mighty task just yet, so he decides to sit and gather some more power. That is when he realizes the dripping he felt earlier does not come from his eye; it is just some superficial head injury that is bleeding all over his temple and the side of his face.

At least it feels superficial; Castiel is not sure about anything at the moment, except for the relief over the discovery that this blood comes from the vessel and not _him_.

The sounds coming from the highway draw his fragile focus back in that direction. It looks like two of the trucks have collided and one of them is now smoking intensely. People are screaming something, but Castiel is unable to hear it clearly. Someone might be hurt, and the angel's first instinct tells him he should go over there and check on them; it was him after all that caused the accident. He rejects the idea a moment later; because let's be rational, he can't even fix his own fractured hipbone right now, so healing another person is definitely out of option.

However, it looks like there is no need for him to go there as someone is already running towards the spot where he is sitting, heavy and stiff and still a little stunned; he has no chance to disappear before the person reaches him. It is a man in his fifties, wearing jeans and a checked shirt; probably a driver of one of the vehicles that have stopped at the site of the accident.

"Sir!" He is shouting already from a distance. "Sir, are you all right? Thank God! I saw what happened–"

He gets closer and the shock is visible on his face as he takes in the sight of the angel. Castiel guesses he probably does not look very healthy, as not only his face and shoulder is covered in blood by now but his entire clothing is decorated with specks of what has remained of Elias.

"Are you okay?" The man asks in alarm and kneels down in front of him, putting a reassuring hand on the angel's shoulder.

It is the wrong shoulder; Castiel flinches and stifles a grimace, then looks at the man with a rather wild look in his wide eyes. A couple seconds later his mind catches up and he nods slowly.

Getting the hint, the man takes his hand away. "What the hell was that? It looked like you turned up from nowhere! As if you had fallen from the sky!"

Castiel finally finds his voice. "Actually I did. We both did. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

"What the hell are you talking about? Are you sure you all right?"

"I didn't mean any harm to you, but I had to get rid of him." Castiel makes another attempt to explain.

The man looks at him with a strange expression. "You're being incoherent, you know? I think you may have a concussion. But don't worry, the ambulance is on its way. Stay put, they'll be here soon."

An alarm goes off somewhere in the back of the angel's mind. He will have to get away from here sooner than he has planned. "Is anyone hurt?"

The man chuckles. "A guy bumped his head, but he looks nowhere near as bad as you, kid! You look like you've been overrun by one of those trucks!"

"Actually, I..." Castiel starts again, but at that moment a woman's call is heard and the man stands up.

"I have to go back, check on the others. You stay here, don't move, wait for the paramedics!"

With that, he's already running back before the angel can fully comprehend his words. Castiel remains there, sitting, stunned by the extent of information his exhausted mind has to decipher. His head is throbbing; he can hear the pumping of the vessel's blood in his ears, he is unable to focus his eyes properly, and he also becomes aware of the shaking of his hands.

He thinks through the elderly man's words. It seems like no one has gotten hurt on the highway, at least not seriously. Paramedics are on their way... he realizes with alarm he will probably be transferred to a hospital if he does not move soon. It is not like he was afraid of hospitals; after all, he recalls waking up in one after two weeks of drifting unconsciously under the spell of an angel banishing sigil – he just does not want to be around people right now. He only means trouble to them, as he has just proved by causing a couple of truck to run into each other; he does not even dare to think about what would happen if Naomi or her servants found him in a building crowded with people. Even his injuries won't be a problem for long, he is going to be able to heal them if he can finally get a couple minutes of peace and solitude.

Except for the shoulder wound, but that is another matter.

He manages to gather himself to his feet; the world tilts around him as soon as he is straightened up. It feels like an oddly strong wind is trying to knock him over and the sharp line of the distant horizon blurs into unfriendly smudges. Castiel staggers a bit, finds his balance, takes a deep breath and lets the blue of the sky swallow him whole.

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**A/N: If you'd be pleased to read more, let me know! I plan to write a few more chapters and probably lead Cas back to the boys. I will also try not to make you wait for that long:)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Okay, I'm really sorry again. I was nowhere near computers in the past week. It was awesome though:) But now I'm back and so is this story. Enjoy!**

* * *

- Part 4 -

He must not have traveled far as less than a split second later he collides with earth again, stumbling forward for a few steps with buckling knees until realizing his legs won't hold him and collapsing on all four. He hisses and swallows a moan as sharp pain flares across his hip upon the impact; for a moment it feels like a spear has torn through him clean from the shoulder to the knee and his breath hitches. He sways and lets his lower part sink to the ground like a wounded wild animal.

What a painful reminder of the forgotten injury of the damn hipbone.

Castiel closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing for a couple of moments. The pain has dulled to a warm, numbing tingle, and after a minute or so Castiel feels strong enough to give the healing a try.

It is not as easy as he would do it if he was at full power; in fact it goes a lot harder and slower. It almost takes another minute to solder the fractured bone parts, and half a minute more to fix the sprained knee, but after that Castiel feels far better. It is only then that he has time to look around, to see where exactly he has landed. It is the quiet edge of a pine forest, with chirping birds and fresh air; he could not have even found a more perfect place for healing.

_Castiel – Castiel!_

He is startled by the distant voice and his heart rate quickens immediately. Naomi sounds like she is a million miles away, like she is trying to reach him but an invisible force keeps pushing her back, making her unable to get near. Castiel feels a mixture of relief and anxiety. He must have succeeded in evading her, but only temporarily. She will catch up sooner or later because you will never be able to escape Naomi once she intends to have you, that much Castiel has already learnt. No doubt there will be an end put to his running in time, he only hopes he will be able to buy as much time for the Winchesters and Kevin as he can.

_Castiel!_

The voice is closer this time. It still sounds like a blow in the wind, a teardrop in the sea; faint and soft, coming from the other side of the world. She is fighting to get to him. Castiel remembers the drill, remembers the look on her face as she pushed the tool closer to his face. The rest - he cannot remember, there is a black hole in his memory, and it feels more unnatural than anything he has ever experienced. And he is not ashamed to admit he truly fears the time he will get caught again.

_CASTIEL!_

This time it feels like she has shouted right in his ear. Adrenaline kicks in and he jumps up in alarm, only to realize there is no one around before flying away blindly.

He swiftly and randomly changes places. Mexico City, Lake Michigan, a snowy field in Alaska in a quick row; then he is back in Utah, exhausted, dizzy, shoulder feeling numb and stiff, and he is completely unable to fly any further.

What he hears then, however, is enough to make his blood run cold.

A laughter, soft and light, ringing in his ears and through his mind like a stream coming from nowhere. Naomi is laughing, and Castiel realizes he is not hearing her because she is near. She is talking entirely in his mind.

Castiel falls to his knees in desperation.

He closes his eyes and thinks of the time when Lucifer was in his mind; the fateful inheritance of Sam's mental state that he took from him. He remembers all the torture, and wonders what Naomi can and will do.

_Don't worry Castiel, I'm not coming after you anymore. I have what I want now._

He understands the words. He understands the syllables, the letters. Only he does not understand what they mean. "What do you mean," he mutters, not entirely sure Naomi can hear him like this.

_The tablet - and the boys! Their little game is over. Your effort was futile, Castiel, you can stop now. Or you can keep fleeing, I don't care._

"No!"

He does not even notice he has cried out loud.

He is near a gas station, though it never occurs to him. A couple of men look up at the shouting, look in his direction and frown. Some lunatic in a trenchcoat, kneeling on the grass between the station and the road, mumbling to himself, putting one hand against a pylon for support. The drivers grin, shake their heads, some knock their temple with their finger. Drunken at this hour - and the formal clothing makes it even worse.

Castiel perceives nothing of it. He is barely even aware of his surroundings.

His mind is filled, practically _flooded_ with images that make his heart overwhelm with the purest horror he has felt in a long time. Sam, held against the wall by an invisible force, trying to draw a breath but obviously suffocating. Kevin, lying sprawled on the table, eyes closed, deathly pale. Dean, crouching on the ground, spitting blood and rattling horribly as his throat is being cut open-

"No, no, no, no," Castiel mutters, his eyes moving rapidly in their sockets, scanning the ground in front of him, the grass, the road, the sky, but he is unable to see any of it, unable to take it in-

Because in the middle of the massacre there stands Naomi, proud and victorious, smiling mockingly, holding the tablet in one hand and lifting the other to wipe out life with a single snap of her fingers.

"NO!" Castiel yells and tries to jump at her; but the image withers the moment he moves and he ends up tumbling on the ground, panting like he has just run a marathon, looking around bewildered and still not fully comprehending where exactly he is.

The image is gone, but the sounds are still there. Castiel stares at the trees with wide eyes; in his ears, Sam's and Dean's scream of death echoes.

He acts on first instinct. They must be in the boat where Kevin is working on the demon tablet. Where Kevin _was_ working on the demon tablet. That is the only place Naomi could have found them. Why did they not ward it against angels in the first place?

Castiel grits his teeth. He is on the edge of his strength, limbs tremble with exhaustion, heart races, but he does not let himself fall apart. With one last giant effort and a clear destination in mind he heaves himself up and away, disappearing without even bothering to stand up first.

There must have been some carefulness left somewhere in the back of his rugged mind because he does not fly right in the middle of it. He materializes on the docks, just outside the old boat they have hidden Kevin in; and for a moment he stands there and listens.

Even holds his breath.

There is no sound coming from the boat; no screams, not any sign of struggle.

Torn and frayed, Castiel stands there in the middle of nothing, wings at the ready, unsure of what to do; a trembling smudge of tan on the abandoned greyness where ocean meets asphalt. He listens to the noises of the world; he can hear the crashes of a hundred distinct waves at a time, several cars honking almost a mile away, his own desperate heartbeats. It is almost deafening.

And he cannot hear the screams of the Winchesters.

Castiel takes a tentative step forward; without a warning, it is all in front of him again.

Dean and Sam are already on the floor, dying, barely moving. Naomi walks away between them, tablet in hand.

"No," Castiel wheezes and his muscles tense for a split second before his feet part the ground.

A wingbeat later he crashes into the table inside the boat, almost knocking off the massive amount of papers, books and other stuff stockpiled on each other rather chaotically. He is so busy trying to catch his breath that it takes him a couple of seconds to take in the sight of a tablet in the middle of the mess.

A whole tablet, not one broken in half.

The angel tablet.

"Dude, what's wrong with you? You scared the hell out of me!"

"Cas?"

"You okay?"

The familiar voices seem to come from all around him and as he looks up, he is met with the shocked gaze of the prophet.

And the prophet looks very much alive. In fact, he looks to be in the middle of work to decipher the tablet, work Castiel has just managed to interrupt. Behind him, Dean and Sam are staring at him just as surprised; beer in hand, looking absolutely healthy and normal, as normal as they can be considering what they are working on.

The angel straightens up, taking in the situation. There is no sign of Naomi, not at the moment.

"Was she here?" He croaks the question out, voice even gruffer than usual.

"Who?" Dean asks back. "Cas, you okay? What happened?"

He walks up to him, puts a reassuring hand on the angel's shoulder. Castiel flinches a little and looks him in the eye as serious as he can with a tormented mind. "Naomi. Was she here? Did she do anything to you?"

"What's wrong with his eye?" Kevin asks the brothers.

Castiel wipes the blood from his face impatiently. He has not even noticed it this time. "Just answer me."

"Cas, you need to calm down. No one's been here. Just tell us what's wrong, okay?

Slowly, painfully slowly Castiel's mind seems to catch up and put it all together. He looks at them, all three of them, one after the other as realization dawns on him.

He has been set up.

"I am wrong," he mutters to himself.

"Excuse me?" Dean narrows his eyes and leans closer to the angel. Something is definitely off about him; not just the fact that he is covered in blood, or that his shoulder wound is still glowing. There is something in his eyes, something Dean could most accurately describe as terror.

When Castiel looks up again, there is determination is his gaze. "Sam, Dean, you have to get out of here. Now."

Though he has not been mentioned, it is clear Kevin is also included in the addressing. For a couple of moments, however, none of them move or talk. They just stare at him in incomprehension, and the silence is heavy, and Castiel feels like every passing second is a beat of a hammer on his head.

Dean, the stubborn one, the sulky one, the self righteous one nods at him and says, "I think we need to talk now. Cas, you can't just-"

"You don't understand," the angel interrupts him almost angrily and pushes himself away from the table. "She can be here any moment. We don't have time to waste."

He stumbles forward, grabs Dean's arm.

"If you think you can zap us away-"

Castiel ignores him and heads for Sam, dragging the indignant hunter after him, but before he could reach his destination, he feels a slight change in the pressure of the room and his heart misses a beat. He does not have time to turn back and watch; an invisible force squeezes the air out of his lungs and the next moment he is torn away from Dean and thrown at the nearest wall, head bouncing off the hard surface which makes his vision darken for a second.

"Not so fast, Castiel," the familiar voice is distant but at the same time it feels like Naomi is whispering right into his ear. Castiel closes his eyes to try to stop the spinning of the room.

"Everyone just calm down. No one is going anywhere."

The voice is firm and loud now; she is talking to all of them. It is imposing and absolute and cannot be defied. Castiel does not need to open his eyes to know that in the middle of the room, right next to the table where he has been just a minute ago there stands Naomi, proud and victorious, smiling mockingly, holding the tablet in one hand and lifting the other to wipe out life with a single snap of her fingers.

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**A/N: Did I just leave it with a cliffhanger again? I need to get rid of this bad habit, I know. Anyway, please review! That makes my day:)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Welcome back! Actually made an effort not to keep you waiting for too long:) Hope it was worth the wait though!**

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- Part 5 -

"I'm really sorry Castiel," Naomi lazily walks around the room, looking at each of them carefully before stopping in front of the wounded angel still pressed against the wall. "I didn't want to do this, but the importance of having the tablet is greater than my good intentions. I had no choice but to trick you into showing me its location."

Castiel looks like, _feels like_ dying right on the spot. This cannot be happening, his mind keeps repeating and repeating without end, like a tape stuck on replay, like a carousel that will go around and around forever. The room is spinning in front of his eyes; he can barely see Naomi's face only inches from his own, he is unable to focus his eyes on that cold blue gaze.

How could he fall for this? How could he not see this coming?

If only he realized it a couple of seconds earlier–

Naomi tilts his head and narrows her eyes as she reads him; her fingers tenderly touch his face, wiping the blood away. "I'm sorry, but this is definitely happening, Castiel. You need to understand that not letting the angel tablet end up in Crowley's possession is our mutual interest, and it's the most crucial."

Castiel can barely hear her words as they are stifled by the ones still screaming in his mind. His breathing is labored, and his whole body is shaking as he keeps struggling uselessly against the unyielding force still pressing him against the wall. It feels like trying to break through Earth's crust. A mighty and almost impossible task even for a healthy and powerful angel. Castiel feels like he is only a bit more than nothing; a droplet of water in the deep sea currents, a sigh caught in the wind. And he is merely a heartbeat away from becoming one with the emptiness inside him that threatens to swallow him whole.

"I'm... sorry." He manages to spit out through gritted teeth, but he is unsure of whom he has addressed; Naomi, Dean, or the prophet.

Or God.

"Leave him alone, you son of a bitch," Dean's more than familiar angry shout is heard, and with that Castiel becomes aware of the groaning and struggling sounds coming from the other three. He forces his eyes open; his vision swims for a moment but then he can make out the Winchesters at the opposite wall and Kevin, lying clean across the table. They are obviously immobilized, just like him, and for a second the angel feels shear terror rush through his veins as the sight of them dying comes back to haunt his battered mind.

Naomi chuckles. It is a soft, modest little sound, yet it feels a lot louder to Castiel than any of the noises so far; it practically hurts his eardrums. With a graceful wave of her wrist she silences everything around them, including Dean whose furious shouting is reduced to a comical gaping of his mouth.

"You think I will kill them?" She asks, clearly amused, but there is a hint of disgust in her next sentence. "You _fear_ for them Castiel. You grew so close to these pitiful apes you almost _forgot_ what you really are."

"I know what I am." Castiel rasps out but Naomi cuts him at once.

"Oh stop it already. I know you, have you forgotten? I've been in your mind, back and forth, all the way through. I know about every little thought, every stupid feeling of yours, every word you're saying I know them before they leave your rebellious mouth!"

Castiel swallows. He has no idea yet where this is going, but he holds her gaze anyway.

"You think you fight for the good cause?" She goes on and every word is another stab in Castiel's very being. "You think you're so righteous? That you're better than all of us? Just because you want to choose some humans over your own brothers and sisters?"

"I won't play your game anymore," Castiel mutters. "I'm done."

Naomi's smile is bitter. "Oh you're far from done. You're a killer, Castiel, whether you accept it or not. Back in the day, I saw you slay hundreds of men, women, newborn infants even, all in the name of God. Thousands!"

"You're lying," Castiel turns his head away, but finds his own voice betraying him as even he does not believe it himself.

"You did. You just don't remember. And turning cloaks and starting to slay your own kind doesn't make you any better."

Castiel forces himself to look back in her eyes. The tension vibrating between the two of them is clearly sensible; it suppresses every other thing in the room. "How many times have you torn into my head and washed it clean?"

"Frankly, too damn many." Naomi shakes her head but not with guilt. She rather looks like a mother who is reluctant but self-conscious about scolding a child. "You're the famous spanner in the works. Honestly, I think you came off the line with a crack in your chassis. You have never done what you were told, not completely."

Castiel takes advantage of the short break she makes to catch her breath. "You think you're always right, do you? I fought beside Uriel for hundreds of years, only to see him betray us–"

"And look at you now, tell me how are you different from him?" Naomi shouts. "You're working against angels, you kill us if we get in your way, you're playing god all the time, whether with those souls or without! Look where it has gotten you, Castiel! Look at you, you're wounded, you're fragile, if I didn't hold you up against the wall you wouldn't be able to stand on your feet. Your mind is so torn it is far beyond repair, and you can believe me, I've seen it all. If I hadn't washed it clean from time to time, you would have broken a long time ago!"

Castiel cannot help but close his eyes again as the spinning of the room seems to strengthen. Naomi's words hammer against his brain, trying to penetrate his innermost, to crush him, and he does not want to yield. He does not let himself fall apart. He does not let himself break. "Do what you want with me," he mutters, barely audible, "just let them go."

"See, that's the problem." Naomi sighs and steps back from the trembling angel. "The roots of _all_ your problems. You're right, angels are wrong sometimes. We shouldn't have sent you down to hell for his soul in the first place."

Castiel's eyes snap open and stare past Naomi, straight into Dean's wide and shocked ones. The meeting of their gazes creates a bridge across the heavy silence, and Castiel feels this is everything he can hold onto, this is the only thing that keeps him from shattering.

"Let's get back to basics." The bridge is broken by Naomi; both by her words that cut through the silence like a knife through butter, and her figure that is now standing precisely between the angel and his charge. "You have to forget them for good, Castiel. It will be better for all of us."

"No." Castiel forces his right hand up, clutching at his shoulder, pressing the wound intentionally to help him remember. Four seconds, maybe five, and his hand is torn away against his will, pinned back against the wall; and Naomi's fingers are already over the injury, not healing but sending rays of warm, soothing energy until all he can feel is an empty numbness in his shoulder. "No!" His plea is barely a whisper this time.

"And now," she steps even closer, "look at me."

And Castiel cannot resist. No matter how he tries to disobey, his head is lifted up on its own, his eyes bear into Naomi's glowing stare, and his mind opens up to her, leaving him completely defenseless and vulnerable.

"Let the bond break, Castiel," she says, almost kindly as she touches his forehead. "Let it go. It is a burden; without it you will be free and whole."

Sharp pain stabs through Castiel's skull and he cries out, managing to close his eyes again. He feels his soul crack apart. He cannot do this, he will die before he forgets Dean and everything they have gone through together. What Naomi wants is impossible, it is just torture that he will not be able to survive–

He is barely aware of the blood that starts oozing from his eye again, stronger than ever. It is like the vessel's body is protesting with him, rebelling with him - or trying to cast him out?

"Don't resist, I can see when you do." Naomi' voice cuts through the chaos in his mind again. "The bleeding of your eye betrays you. It shows me when you are not obeying. It is a sign of the lack of balance between your body and mind, and they're both screaming. No one can survive long in this state. You have to restore the balance. Let the bond break!"

Her last sentence is emphasized with a hurricane awoken from nothing; it rages through the room, stirring up papers and other stuff from the table, its whizzing getting louder and higher until it reaches a frequency Castiel can no longer hear; and then he is left in silence and emptiness.

The place he is now in is unfamiliar to him. A completely white room with no doors or windows, walls both close and far beyond reach at the same time. It must be in Heaven, and he tries to remember, and tries again until he realizes he no longer has memories. It is the whitest of white, the cleanest of clean, and he is nothing but a bare thought in the middle of–

He takes a step and his legs buckle, but it is more of an instinct as he feels no more pain or tiredness. His body is so healthy he cannot even feel it anymore. His legs work perfectly now; as he walks on, the surroundings never change at all, even the walls do not seem to get any closer.

A single, clear voice rings up from somewhere outside. "That's it. You're clear now. Can you feel how good it is?"

He unconsciously looks for the origin of the voice, but there is nothing except for the whiteness. Slowly he feels himself becoming one with it.

"You will do what I say, understand? You will obey me from now on, without question, and I will lead you to your salvation."

He nods stolidly, and takes another step.

* * *

Naomi smiles as she steps away from his work, taking in the sight. Castiel has gone silent a few seconds ago, along with that, the trembling and the bleeding of his eye has also stopped.

Her work is almost complete.

"Let's try it in hard mode," she mumbles to herself as she snaps his fingers. The room gets noisy again with the panting of the captured Winchesters and the prophet.

"What have you done to him?" Dean tries to shout, but his voice is so rasp it is obvious he has been yelling in the past half an hour, even despite being silenced.

"I purified him," she answers over her shoulder, not even bothering to look at the hunter, "of the obsession he was cradling towards you, that was threatening to destroy him."

Dean seems to ignore her. "Cas? Cas! You in there? Can you hear me?"

The angel is staring into space, eyes glassy and unfocused. His mouth is a grim line, the remnants of the blood are trickling down his face lethargically. His breathing is calm and even, which is in a heartbreaking contrast with the way he has been wheezing desperately only a minute ago. Taking in this sight, Dean notices one more thing that makes his stomach drop.

The shoulder wound is not shining any longer.

"You can wake up now," Naomi coos and snaps her fingers again. "I have a task for you."

Castiel flinches at the snap, but other than that nothing changes.

"Cas! Can you hear me?"

The angel slowly turns his head towards him, and Dean's short-lived relief dies immediately. Castiel's expression is blank; looking at him feels like looking into a bottomless pit, a starless night, and there is an emptiness in his eyes the hunter has never seen before.

Except for the night when Samandriel was killed.

Naomi lifts a hand and strokes Castiel's chin, wiping away some more of the blood. "Good. You are going to kill them now. Start with Dean Winchester, the one you should have never rescued from where he truly belongs."

There is not even the slightest change in Castiel's expression as he stares at him with eyes showing even less emotion than the first time they met. Dean shouts his name over and over again without any effect as the angel mechanically draws his blade and takes a step towards him.

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**A/N: ****I particularly enjoyed the writing of this chapter... dunno why, probably because I have a sick and obsessed mind:D If you like it as well, please leave a review!**


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